


Green Forests

by Cats_Obsessions



Series: Unexpected - Fenris/Dorian [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fenris has dry humor, Fenris in Dragon Age: Inquisition, Fluff, Friendly banter, Friends to Lovers, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed, Slice of Life, Teasing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and likes badgering the mage, eventual romance in later fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22962817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cats_Obsessions/pseuds/Cats_Obsessions
Summary: After the Inquisition moves to Skyhold, Fenris joins in the effort against Corypheus. He's quickly accepted into the Inner Circle, joining his long time friend Varric. However, this also means working with the Tevinter Altus, Dorian Pavus. While he is wary of the mage at first, Dorian has no qualms about befriending the elf, and soon they develop a friendship- as odd as it may be.On their most recent mission to the Emerald Graves, the bad weather and someone's clumsiness puts Dorian and Fenris in an awkward position.
Relationships: Fenris/Dorian Pavus
Series: Unexpected - Fenris/Dorian [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126691
Comments: 12
Kudos: 100





	Green Forests

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm in love with this rarepair. I have a few random slice of life fics for them I'll put in a collection. This takes place somewhere between meeting Hawk in Crestwood and finding out what happened to the Wardens. I have other wips that occur before and after for later.
> 
> There's a lot of fics with Fenris being totally opposed to Dorian as soon as they meet, which is fun, but I think they actually have pretty similar views in some ways, and a lot would change in Fenris after the events of DA2; afterall, he admits he doesn't want to hold on to the hatred Dannarius and Hadriana sparked in him. So, I write him as a bit more subdued in terms of his attitudes toward magic, but I also think Dorian would subconsiously be sensitive to Fenris' past.

Damp air speckled with river mist floats off the moving waters. The dark currents rage across the rocky ravine, a stark contrast to the vibrant green of the forest.

“We should move up stream farther and find a better place to cross!” Inquisitor Lavellen calls out to the group.

They have been at this for hours and it is getting dark. Dorian is already shivering; things will only get worse once the sun sets, though very little of the light gets through the dense trees as is. This wasn’t the plan, of course. Normally, they would carefully orchestrate their trips so that they may stop at Inquisition appointed campsites. But their last encounter with rifts combined with a large group of bandits on the main roads has delayed them significantly.

Dorian drags his feet, falling behind the group as Cassandra and Iron Bull debate what is best. Fenris, as always, positions himself to keep an eye on everyone. They had even made a fair amount of headway to forging somewhat of a friendship, thanks to Dorian’s persistent pestering. Yet, he seems to always have his eyes on Dorian. Then again, Dorian tends to have his eyes on Fenris most of the time too…

“There’s not going to be a better place to cross, and if we don’t get out of this valley, camps going to flood while we’re sleeping. Then, we’re fucked,” Bull fusses.

“The current is too rapid here!” Cassandra calls back.

Ellena looks at the water nervously, glancing back to Dorian, her silent pleading almost audible in his head.“Not all of us are Quinari, Bull,” he adds to the argument.

Cassandra continues, “Yes, and someone could fall in.”

Bull, confident and reckless as always, huffs “Oh, come on! It’s not deep. Besides, everyone can swim.”

“Actually- I can’t,” Ellena finally speaks up, embarrassment all too palpable in her voice. “Well, I can, sort of- not really though. My clan didn’t travel near large bodies of water often.”

“Shit, Boss. You should have said something earlier. I can just carry you,” Bull offers to her relief- still a little embarrassed, but what are their options?

This particular spot is not too tumultuous, but the waters are deep enough to reach above Dorian’s waist, and the riverbed is filled with loose rocks. Inquisitor Lavellen, a good foot shorter than him and light as a feather, definitely couldn’t cross on her own.

Bull asks if anyone else can’t swim and no one says a word, but one glance at Fenris tells Dorian everything he needs to know- the elf’s full lips downturn into a grimace as Cassandra and Bull further plot how to cross. Yet, he says nothing. He’s much taller than most elves, nearly Dorian’s height and stronger for sure.

Bull goes first, trudging through the currents like it’s nothing. Cassandra carefully follows with little trouble. Dorian and Fenris tentatively approach the edge of the water after them.

Just the thought of how cold the water might be sends a shiver down Dorian’s spine. “This seems like a good idea,” he says sarcastically.

Fenris’ lips curl into a hint of a smile “Were you not complaining about not having a nightly bath earlier?”

“I was hoping for a hot bath,” Dorian curses as he steps in “Fasta vass.” The water is frigid, icy liquid nipping at his feet as it seeps through his shoes and clothing. The rocks are uneven under his shoes, forcing him to take each step slowly and with as much precision as possible. With each step, the water rises higher and higher until he’s up to his waist. The weight of their damp armor makes it hard to walk, but aids in not being swept away by the roaring river.

Fenris follows behind him closely, similar Tevene curses passing through his lips “Kaffas!”. Halfway across the river, loose rocks shift under his feet, nearly sending him into the water. The elf reaches out to grasp Dorian’s arm to help steady himself. It surprises him, but Dorian does his best to steady them both.

“Are you alright?”

“Just keep walking,” Fenris murmurs next to him.

Dorian is the next one to almost slip, pushed to the side by the strong currents, he reaches out to Fenris on instinct, thankfully with no complaints from the elf. Before long, the two are all but clinging to each other as they near the shore.

Dorian is sure it’s Fenris’ fault, and of course Fenris will blame Dorian; whether one slipped and pulled the other down or if both slipped cannot be determined, but Dorian finds himself fully dunked, face first, in the ice-cold river. At first, it’s a shock- almost painful, but his body reacts quickly, pushing himself up to fresh air. However, the cold air feels almost worse, freezing prickling pain igniting everywhere damp skin meets frigid air. He sees Fenris pull himself out of the water quickly after him, the two dripping, sopping wet looking at each other.

“You-” Dorian starts angrily, trudging the rest of the way out of the water, but was he the one that fell or was it Fenris?

Fenris glares at him horribly as if that could cut Dorian alone- that is, until something about Dorian catches his eye. Soon, Fenris is giggling- yes, giggling at Dorian as they step onto dry land. Perhaps it’s his velvet smooth laughter that is contagious, or the ridiculousness of it all, or how he looks with snow white wet hair plastered to his forehead and the ungodly feeling of damp clothes sticking to them, but Dorian finds himself laughing heartily as well.

\------

The Inquisitor starts a fire while Bull and Cassandra help them hang up their water logged supplies and clothes from whatever surfaces or tree branches are available. Dorian’s teeth chatter loudly, earning him a questionable look from Fenris, though no one could ignore the goosebumps covering the elf’s exposed skin.

“Seeing as there is nothing for you to change into, it would probably be best if you,” Cassandra gestures to them vaguely “So you don’t get hypothermia.”

“If we-?” Dorian plays innocent, trying to force the words from Cassandra as she begins to blush.

“You know!”

Fenris huffs amusedly, further chiding her “Are you saying you want us to take off our clothes? That’s awfully direct.”

“I- not all of them! I don’t want to see,” she gestures again, seemingly lower “any of _that_. We have extra blankets you can cover with until your sleeping clothes dry.”

Cassandra reddens as Fenris and Dorian laugh while she retrieves the blankets from the tent pack Bull had been carrying. She always does get flustered so easily. It makes Dorian chuckle despite the chill running through him.

“You didn’t have to dunk me in the water to get me to undress, you know,” Dorian teases, turning to Fenris.

Fenris raises an eyebrow at him “I believe you are the one who dunked me. I could say the same to you.”

The elf shoots him a playful smirk that all but disarms him and sends heat right to his cheeks. If this is his reaction to a playful smile, perhaps it has been too long since he’s properly flirted with someone.

“I'll remember that for next time.”

Before he can consider it too long, Cassandra is shoving wool blankets at them. Camping provides very little privacy aside from the confines of a tent, but they have no such amenity as they would only dampen everything inside. So, adverted gazes are all they get from each other and the others as they peel off all the layers of the wet fabric sticking to them, except their small pants of course. They huddle as close as they can to the newly lit fire in the middle of camp. Unintentional as it may be, he catches a few glances of Fenris before he can wrap himself in the warm confines of the blanket, just enough to notice the extent of how much of his body the markings truly cover.

Concealed in blankets, the two sit side by side on a log around the fire, Dorian suppressing his shivering the best he can. “This blasted fire isn’t warm enough!”

“Can’t you use some magic shit to warm yourself up?” Bull asks.

Dorian scoffs “Do you think everything can be done with magic?” the answer to his particular question is yes, but he’s not doing that for obvious reasons. And less obvious ones. But mostly because he fears using magic as a ‘shortcut’, as some might say, could make Fenris less comfortable with him. He’s different than he used to be, Varric says, but Dorian is an _Altus_.

“Didn’t answer the question,” Iron Bull rolls his eyes.

“ _Bull_ ,” Ellena fusses. She knows; she’s a mage. They’ve had the same thoughts about it. She redirects the conversation instead, taking on her more authoritative tone- her inquisitor voice, as he calls it. “Since we’re camping unexpectedly, we’re going to have to share tents.” She glances around the group as no one volunteers, likely making mental calculations about the likelihood of who will kill who in small quarters, until finally, a small devilish grin appears on her face if only for a second, but long enough he can tell she has something in mind. “Dorian, Fenris, you two can share with me. Cassandra and Bull can use the other tent.”

_Oh._

“Is that okay?”

“Could be worse,” Fenris glances at Dorian, smirking. Is that an insult or a compliment?

“Of course,” Dorian agrees. Maybe he’s overthinking this.

Really, it would have been most logical to put them in Bull’s tent- Quinari emitting the most heat and all, rather than with another elf, but the Inquisitor seems to enjoy Dorian’s suffering, certainly after she’s noticed Dorian’s gaze lingering on the elf a little longer than it should lately. But It could be nothing. She’s closest to them, and Fenris and Bull get along even worse than Dorian and Bull. Or perhaps this is her payback for pushing her toward Cullen countless times.

Things worked out for her though. Things don’t work out for Dorian, and this in particular is a very foolish prospect. Friend or not, one day, Dorian might become a magister- and even if it is only to work towards changing the Imperium, he cannot guarantee the title alone won’t alter alter Fenris’ perception of him. It’s enough the Lyrium Ghost has become friends with mages, even a small number of Tevinter mages, but magisters are different. And Fenris views magisters differently- specifically that none can rise above the temptations of blood magic and corruption. It won’t matter, then, if Dorian proves him wrong because he’ll be gone for the hills before he gets a chance.

“Dorian, are you okay?” the Inquisitor asks, standing in front of him.

He blushes, a little carried away in his own mind again. “Yes, the cold must be getting to me.” 

“Let me know if you need anything. I’m going to try and get some rest,”

She smiles, seemingly amused by his state of dishevelment. Ellena brushes his damp bangs out of his face, a warm and kind gesture. It is odd, actually, to consider, but he has become accustomed to his exceedingly tactile friend. Things were different in her family, she said. He remembers the first time she really admitted she was homesick, referencing the lack of touch among humans that she was so unused to. How she convinced a Tevinter mage to accept her friendly hugs or little touches is beyond him- perhaps he just felt bad for her. But, it’s nice.

Dorian glances away, his gaze falling on Fenris. The elf’s green eyes scan his face, something amused and bright in them. _His eyes_. They’re the prettiest Dorian thinks he’s ever seen, though he tries not to stare often. A shame, really, he could get lost in them, a forest of their own.

Fenris smirks, a small chuckle escaping his lips, and for a moment, Dorian almost feels as though his mind has been read.

“What?!”

Fenris’ laughter builds until Dorian thinks he might start crying. He reaches out to Dorian, gently caressing his cheek. Something jolts in his stomach at the touch. Fenris holds out his hand to show Dorian black charcoal smudged across his fingertips. _His eyeliner is streaking down his face._

“No one told me?!” Dorian nearly shrieks. Though, a smile tugs at his lips.

He can hear Ellena laugh in the distance as she crawls into her tent.

“I’m glad I amuse you,” Dorian complains, wiping at his cheeks, hoping he can remove the black streaks. “Andraste’s tits, why does she always ask _me_ to travel with her, and why do I always agree?”

Fenris huffs amusedly, still smiling from his laughing fit, “Good friends are perhaps the only commodity one cannot get in Tevinter, hm?”

Dorian glances down. There were some, but how did those end? “Indeed.”

When he looks up, Fenris is still smirking at him. Dorian raises one eyebrow, a silent question.

“I just noticed your mustache stayed intact. Did you cast some sort of rock armor spell on it?”

Dorian scoffs “I don’t need magic to be fashionable.”

“Is that what it is?”

It’s interesting how Fenris will seem so stoic at times, particularly in the larger group, but teases and smiles so freely in moments like this. Dorian supposes he should consider himself lucky for being able to see that side of him- even if it is at Dorian’s expense.

A comfortable silence falls over them, exhaustion from the day filling their minds with few thoughts until Fenris gets up to check on their clothes “Tck, still damp,” he scoffs.

“What the Iron Bull said- is that true? You can heat yourself?” Fenris asks as he returns to stand in front of the fire.

“Is there anything I can’t do?” Dorian’s boasting earns him an eyeroll from Fenris “Yes, I can. It’s a minor spell that warms the surface of my skin for a limited amount of time.”

“And why don’t you cast it then?”

He would hate to admit his real reasoning behind it- a little unsure of the elf’s reaction, and that he wonders how it feels when the lyrium in his markings react to Dorian’s spells. So, he lies, “It would be unfair, wouldn’t it, to leave you freezing?”

Perhaps lying was the mistake. Or perhaps not being more selfish was- his father always did tell him his soft heart would get the best of him. And it seems it will yet, as the situation unfolds before him at a pace so slow and fast he can’t react.

“Then share the heat.”

The words spill from Dorian's mouth before he can think of the possible consequences. “I can’t cast it on you. We would have to huddle for warmth.”

“Very well, I’d rather not freeze to death.” Fenris says, surprisingly quickly.

It makes him nervous in ways he doesn’t want to admit. Dorian comes to stand behind him, the fire blazing in front of Fenris. “Is this alright?” he asks before he touches the elf.

“If you draw from my markings, I will pull your heart out of your chest.” Whether it’s a joke or a genuine threat is indistinguishable- Dorian suspects the elf doesn’t even know which it is, but he has no intention of testing it. “But, yes, it’s fine.”

“I swear to you, I’ll never hurt you like that.” His response comes out more seriously than he had anticipated, but it seems to comfort Fenris anyways as the tension in his shoulders seems to relax. In the back of his mind, Dorian registers the reaction; it must take a conscious effort to accept the touch of another, especially someone like Dorian, even after all his years as a free man. 

Still, Fenris keeps his blanket wrapped tightly around him so that their skin will not touch. Dorian casts the spell before he hesitantly wraps his arms and blanket around Fenris. Warmth surges through his veins, heating his skin. It feels like the comfort of a fire on a chilly night or the sensation of the sun beating down on him on a summer afternoon, but the heat comes from within. It will wear off soon, but under his blanket, the warmth radiating from his body warms Fenris too and small puffs of steam rise from their bodies into the frigid air.

Ellena once told him elves have less body heat than humans and much less than Quinari. She is accustomed to more cold than he is, but clan Lavellen is unique for traveling high into the mountains. Fenris, on the other hand, grew up in the heat of Tevinter. Dorian wonders if the southern weather feels much harsher to him than even Dorian.

It takes him a minute or two to stop shivering, but when he does, Fenris speaks up “Thank you, Mage.”

“See? I can be useful sometimes,” Dorian jokes.

Fenris smiles, but there’s something in his voice that seems like he’s deep in thought. “Of course, not all magic is evil. I realized that many years ago.”

Dorian learned about the elf’s aversion to magic primarily through Verric, and aside from passing comments, the two had never rightfully discussed it beyond their common understanding of Tevinter’s mages. Dorian watched unabashedly amused as Fenris fought his own kneejerk reaction to protest the mages’ unleashed freedom at the inquisitor’s command. But it was done before he joined the inquisition, and free mages does not mean Ferelden will become Tevinter- and it shouldn’t. They both agree with that. And Dorian suspects that Fenris has his own sympathies for circle mages and apostates alike; he just doesn’t know why.

“What made you change your mind?”

“Hawke,” Fenris says only above a whisper.

“The Champion of Kirkwall?” Dorian has met him only briefly in Crestwood. He is to investigate the Wardens with the Inquisitor, but they have had to delay it for some time now, rather in need of reinforcements and supplies. It was only brief, but Fenris seemed overjoyed to see his old friend again.

“He’s a mage.” Fenris explains dryly.

“I’m sorry if I’m overstepping-“

“-Yet you do anyways” Fenris interrupts, but there’s no venom in it. Dorian is beginning to think the elf enjoys badgering him a bit too much.

“Yes, well, you know me: nosey as ever. But… did you have feelings for him?”

Fenris pauses to think for some time- long enough that Dorian suspects he really has overstepped; he half expects a rebuttal of how grossly inappropriate such feelings might be. But finally, Fenris speaks up, though. “No feelings I acted on or ever would.”

Dorian doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what he expected or why he asked, but he feels a distinct sinking in his heart. Not as bad as the panic, but still. Then again, it is interesting to know at least that Fenris did have feelings for a mage- a man at that… Not that it matters… And it shouldn’t matter. Besides, there is a big difference between a Ferelden mage and an Altus.

Fenris continues “I’m sure _you_ wouldn’t understand rejection, but it was unwise to begin with. I only think of him as a good friend these days.”

Dorian snorts and switches to Tevene- partially out of comfort and part so the others can’t understand; he doesn’t need to be teased about his romantic history if anyone is awake in their tents to hear. “It is hard to believe, what with my stunning good looks and all- but I have my fair share of experience with rejection.”

Fenris laughs softly, turning his head toward Dorian, replying in Tevene “Really now? I thought Alti like you get whatever they want.”

“Almost whatever we want,” Dorian chides “as long as it’s what our parents want.”

Fenris huffs, and Dorian wonders if there’s any bitterness there. He is quiet for a moment until Fenris shivers again as the spell wears off. “ _Mage_ ,” he fusses impatiently.

“My apologies,” Dorian steps away from Fenris while he casts the spell, heat coursing through him, warming his skin once again.

This time, as Dorian opens his arms to hold Fenris in his blanket, Fenris lets the cloth droop from his shoulders so that his bare shoulder blades press against Dorian’s chest. White lines, his markings, stand out brightly, glowing blue against his toned muscles and dark caramel skin. It’s an image Dorian doesn’t want to forget. More importantly, without a barrier, the warmth spreads between them much easier. Oddly, Dorian finds his cheeks feel the hottest.

“If it is your parents’ intervention, I don’t believe it counts as rejection,” Fenris says once they’ve resituated. “That’s something else, though equally painful I am sure.”

“Ah, no- fortunately _they_ didn’t get involved until much later in my life. I suppose it’s only fair that everyone gets a chance to experience rejection, hm?”

“I’m sure it’s supposed to make us better people,” Fenris says sarcastically before pushing the topic farther. “Would you like to elaborate?”

“Do you delight in my tales of failure and heartbreak?” Dorian says, only half joking, though the tone of his voice would never show that, light and unbothered as always.

As dry as Fenris’ humor can be, he laughs easily and often, chuckling at most jokes even when they’re at his own expense. It puts Dorian at ease. “I am just curious. You do not have to share.”

“Well, you know Tevinter. One learns the hard way not to expect anything emotional between men.”

“Yes, but did you ever-?” Fenris trails off. The question, the word- it’s not used in Tevinter often. To even ask Dorian to name that feeling would be too much.

“I thought once- I was young and naive and he a more experienced mage than I. I thought we had something, but alas, I was mistaken.” Dorian shifts his weight as he thinks, his hold on Fenris tightening ever so slightly as the bittersweet memories come back to him. “It was foolish to think such a thing could be taken seriously, that anyone would seek my… _that_ kind of company for companionship is foolish in Tevinter.”

“Then be foolish! When did Tevinter ever do anything for you?” Fenris fusses. He turns to face Dorian, a genuine softness in his eyes but anger too- not at Dorian, but at Tevinter, “Don’t hold on to what has hurt you. Lies like that are precisely how the Imperium controls so many. Why say you want a rebellion if you’re not willing to rebel against everything?”

Dorian is taken back. It wasn’t the response he was expecting, but what was he expecting? Did he really want Fenris to agree with him? “I suppose you’re right.”

“Besides, who are they to say what love is and how it can or cannot happen?”. Fenris murmurs, switching back to Common. His bottom lip pouts out just a tad as he says it and his ears tilt down like an irritated cat’s would. It’s something Dorian had never noticed or never witnessed him do. It’s… cute.

Dorian finds himself without an answer or response to both his words and the emotions behind them. Instead, he can only stand and try to process his thoughts as Fenris presses against him once again, but there’s a heat in his chest that feels too close to affection growing, threatening to overwhelm him before he can stop it.

Once their sleeping pants are dry enough to wear, the pair retires to their shared tent with Ellena, and Dorian finds himself squished between the Inquisitor and Fenris as the elves gravitate toward the heat remaining from his spell. He can’t help but notice how different it feels to be so close to his best friend than it does to be close to Fenris- and in which ways it feels different. Her touch is reassuring and comforting by now, safe and constant in a way he imagines a family member’s presence is supposed to be. Fenris’, though, lights both an excitement and a misery in him, like his skin were on fire yet desperate for the heat, each moment burning him further while he can do little but ask for more.

It is stupid and selfish, and it will not be long until any illusions of the fragile friendship they’ve built is shattered- if not for the simple polarity of their histories, surely for Dorian’s own foolishness of hoping for more.

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think when Fenris and Dorian talk privately, they code-switch a lot between Common and Tevene. (code-switching is using two or more languages in one conversation. It can be switching languages for phrases, words, or several sentences). I'm not exactly sure how to represent this in writing though...
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading!


End file.
